


Everyone's Gay for Gordon

by Vituperative_cupcakes



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Jim is the fandom bicycle and I love it, M/M, Wrestling, shy!Bullock, sneaky office sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 08:15:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3127514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vituperative_cupcakes/pseuds/Vituperative_cupcakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because look at the guy</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone's Gay for Gordon

**Author's Note:**

> okay, this fic is a hot mess of continuity. I think Nygma's part could take place at any time before the last episode of the fall episodes, but Oswald's probably takes place after and then Bullock's happens when the mob is out for Gordon...you know what? I'll let you sort this one out.

“Detective?” Nygma closed a file cabinet with a snap. “How...expected.”

“Yeah.” Jim coughed into his hand. “I got your note.”

A piece of paper fluttered to the desk. On the surface it looked like a perfectly normal, if oddly worded report. But if every third letter was crossed out it became a shockingly filthy ode to his ass.

“I wasn't sure if I was getting the message across,” Edward said, semi-sheepishly.

Jim chuckled a little. “Yeah, that you did,” he said.

Gordon looked conspicuously around. Nygma pantomimed him.

“No Miss Kringle,” he said, _sotto voce_ , “no Bullock, no interruptions.” He gave a raunchy laugh that was simultaneously dorky and irresistible. Gordon found he was smiling, despite himself. The pathologist was so strongly emotive it was hard not to get swept up a little in it.

When they kissed, Gordon invariably bumped teeth with Nygma, and Jim always laughed into his mouth a little. This would make Edward pettishly grab fistfuls of his shirt, as if directing him with reigns. Gordon would grab double handfuls of Nygma's ass, jolting the younger man into him and kicking him into overdrive. Nygma didn't look it, but he could wrestle with the best of them. Gordon thought it gave him a little thrill to come close to throwing off Jim until Jim, who had the height and weight advantage, pinned him against something. Today this something was Miss Kringle's desk. Edward squirmed against the cold metal of the surface, grinding against Jim's pelvis in his eagerness. Nygma never got tired of Jim, and Jim never got tired of that. Nygma was the most receptive audience any lothario could ask for. He giggled like a fiend over love notes. He literally blushed over holding hands. And even in makeout sessions like this, he made Jim feel like a porn star.

One palm spread out on Ed's back. The other hand groped for Ed's buckle. Ed in turn slipped clever fingers beneath Jim's belt, working his shirt out from the waistband of his pants so that he could stroke Jim's abdomen. Jim palmed Edward's cock and found him already rock hard. Good. Lunch was short, and Bullock was beginning to suspect these private rendezvous.

Edward's hands were skittering up and down Jim's chest like spiders, Jim grabbed one and directed it downward. Ed always went limp, as if uncertain what to do, until Jim showed him exactly what he wanted. Then Ed leapt into action with a startling speed. He took Jim out of his shorts and tugged him into hardness, working him with a dizzying speed. Gordon sounded through his nose and brought their hips together. Each worked the other, and they frequently let their cocks touch, dueling each other. Ed was the first to come, as always. Jim suspected it was because Ed wanted to pay more attention to him, wanted to touch him as much as he could before they had to part again. Ed, so publicly shy he would not even hold hands with Jim at the office, made up for it with his voracious sexual appetite. Jim swore he looked up new techniques on the internet just to try them out. Ed was sucking on Jim's tongue, working him with one hand and grasping his head with the other. Ed's ridiculous glasses(which he refused to take off when they did this) bit into the bridge of Jim's nose.

Just as Jim was thinking of eying the clock, Edward did a weird complicated hand gesture that sent him over the edge. Jim sucked air over his teeth. Edward caught it in a napkin he'd had handy. They shared a post-coital regard across the distance of their bodies: Jim, tired but happy, Ed, smug and satisfied. Then Jim straightened his tie and Edward spit-polished his glasses and then they were back in order, colleges walking out the door.

Before they parted in the hall, Nygma gave Jim's hand a little squeeze.

 

Oswald smirked. If any face in the history of the human race had been more suited to the expression, Jim couldn't imagine it.

“James,” he said, “James, James, James. How is my favorite security guard?”

Jim coughed uncomfortably into his hand. He had changed into casual clothes before coming here, but this did nothing to deter Cobblepot's henchmen.

Oswald chuckled. “I hope you have some good insider news for me, Jim m'man.”

“Yeah.” Jim cleared his throat. He indicated the room with a sweep of his hand. “Could we—”

Oswald snapped his fingers. “Gentlemen, my informant and I have business to discuss. Please adjourn to another room.”

“You want me to frisk him, boss?” one of them cracked when he was nearly at the door. He was met with a double steely glare.

“I should have him shot,” Oswald said conversationally.

“Don't,” Jim said wearily. Oswald smiled brightly.

“What's that? Compassion for the insubordinate?” Oswald stood. “You really are the best man in all Gotham.”

Jim stayed where he was, deadpan. “I'm a disgraced cop on the mob payroll.”

“And what does that tell you?”

Jim sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Oswald reached him and twiddled his tie.

“Heard from Barbara lately?”

“You know I haven't,”

Oswald fixed a sympathetic look on his face. He knew for a fact that she hadn't contacted Jim, because he had arranged it that way.

“Well, at least you have work to keep you busy,” he said mock-comfortingly.

Jim growled and pushed him back against the desk. Oswald giggled unsteadily, excitement and fear warring in his eyes.

“No one but me knows how good you are, Jim,” he said, “that's what makes you dangerous.”

There was a defeated look in Jim's eyes. “If you say so.”

Oswald kissed him then, nipping and licking like an overeager puppy. Jim returned it after a moment, with interest. Oswald pushed back with his hips, pawing at Jim's clothes until the officer grabbed his wrists and held them aloft in one hand. Oswald was already hard. Jim still needed some coaxing.

Oswald broke away and gasped, “sofa!”

Jim grabbed him up by the hips and staggered the four feet to the couch, the force with which he let Oswald drop had more to do with gravity than actual malice. Oswald could not tell the difference, pressing against Jim just as eagerly as before.

“Jim,” he said, “I need you. You're the only one I can trust.”

And right then, as every other time Oswald had uttered that phrase, it struck Jim how sad that really was.

“It's a good thing you do,” he replied, “considering what I'm about to do.”

Oswald was trembling, actually trembling with excitement. Jim took his expensive silk tie and bound Oswald's hands above his head. Jim kissed him, invading the younger man's mouth while grinding against him.

He broke away. “Stay right here,” he growled. He could feel a minute shiver before he got off Oswald.

There was a mauve cut-glass bottle in the corner, any casual observer might have guessed it contained Eau de cologne. They would have been wrong.

Jim barely undressed, opening his shirt and pants just enough that he could perform the principle actions. Oswald like it that way. Jim slicked his cock in a fist, moving fast and rough as he watched Oswald writhe beneath him. The younger man looked strangely bereft. Jim slowed for just a second.

“Well?” Oswald's tone was bratty. Jim grimly capped the lubricant.

“Ready for the intel?” he asked dryly.

Oswald bit his lip and nodded fast.

Oh god, he was so tight, he was so fucking tight. Jim exhaled like he was executing a pushup, and tried to remind himself to take it slow. No matter how rough Oswald liked it, Jim didn't really actually want to hurt him.

“Jim, please,” Oswald whispered against his shoulder. Jim laid a firm hand on his bound wrists and began thrusting, warming up slowly to jackhammering speed. Oswald stopped making words and devolved to animal noises, struggling helplessly against his bonds(but not so much that Jim would actually stop.) when Jim came it was not at the thought of Barbara, but the sight of Oswald supine beneath him, so needy, such a sucking vacuum of want. It was only now that he took ahold of Oswald's cock, and he did so with gusto. Oswald nuzzled into his neck, begging yes, please, anything—

Gotham's future mob king ejaculated across Jim's stomach.

They pulled apart, gasping, making cursory efforts at straightening their clothes. Oswald handed Jim a fine linen handkerchief to wipe his stomach.

“So,” Jim said when he caught his breath, “next week?”

Oswald smiled. “Of course. Your intel is always good.

 

Bullock got drunk with a predictable frequency.

“Y'r a great guy,” he slurred into Jim's shoulder, “no, really.”

The seemingly accidental touches and mistaken grabs were easy to ignore. The time Bullock surprised him in the men's room of Paddy's bar with an openmouthed kiss was not.

Yet Harvey always looked completely innocent the next day.

Jim could tell that no matter how they abraded one another, that Bullock was growing to like him. Hell, if he had to admit it, the old souse was growing on him too.

So he wasn't completely put out about having to hide in Bullock's apartment while the mob trawled for him. Sleeping on the couch sucked, though, and Jim was startled out of an unquiet sleep by something. The front door.

He found Harvey milling around the entryway.

“Your...'friend' leave?” he asked.

Bullock looked uncharacteristically subdued. “Yeah,” he said distractedly.

“Well, she probably has a lot on her plate. The night is young.”

Bullock nodded. He wasn't really listening, that much was obvious.

“I want to thank you again,” Jim said, “for letting me stay here.”

“...s'nothing.”

“No, really. You put your own life in danger by doing this.”

“I told you,” Bullock said testily, “it's nothing.”

“And I told you,” Jim said louder, sitting up, “I really appreciate this. Going out of your way for me.”

“I'm touched,” Bullock growled.

“Well, you're a great guy for doing it,” Jim snapped.

Bullock blinked unsteadily. “Are you joking?”

“Do I sound like it?”

“I'm not a great guy.” Harvey wavered n his feet. “I'm a scumbag cop and you know it, boyscout.”

“Boyscout?” Jim laughed. “is that supposed to be an insult?”

“No,” Harvey said somberly.

Both men found other things in the room to look at.

“Really,” Bullock said, “you're a great guy. I'm just lucky to have known you.”

“Yeah? I wish someone would tell the force that.”

“Someone has.”

Jim studied the floor.

“Listen, Harvey,” he said carefully, “come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

Harvey sat on the corner of the couch farthest from Jim, plunking down like a sack of potatoes.

“Well,” he said after awkward seconds, “what do you want?”

“Why do you put up with me?”

Harvey looked up. “I should be asking you that.”

Jim laughed. “It's cold up on this pedestal. Want to join me?”

“No thanks, then I got people lookin' up my nostrils all the time.” Harvey nudged him.

Jim nudged him back. “Like they don't do that already.”

“Whoa, who the hell we got here?” Harvey shoved him. “I feel like I should file a grievance against you.”

“Sorry,' Jim said, and kissed him.

The flinch, the whirlwind of karate-chopping and denial Jim expected didn't occur. Instead, Harvey pressed suddenly forward, returning the kiss.

“Whoa,” he said when they broke for air, “okay, cowboy.”

Jim licked his lips. “What, too much?”

Harvey looked surprisingly vulnerable. “Was it that obvious?”

“To me.” Jim stretched with a lazy smile, “But then again I am the best damn detective on the force.

“Whoa now, hot stuff, I never said—” Harvey snorted. “Just great, now you're believing all the things people say about you.”

“Could you say some things about my ass? I could stand to believe some of those.”

Harvey laughed, suddenly and reflexively. “Doesn't Barbara say enough of those?”

“No,” Jim said simply.

“Oh, right. I forgot.” Harvey looked sheepish. “so...how's the sofa.”

“Like sleeping on your desk,” Jim said, “don't you have anything better?”

“Do I?” Harvey's raunchy grin made him crack up.

Purple sheets. Purple sheets. Jim let the edge he was holding drop.

“Good grief,” he said.

Harvey did not have the good sense to look sheepish. “Hey, the ladies go for 'em. What do you want? Beige? Ecru?”

“How about herringbone?” Jim balanced on one foot, stripping off a sock. Harvey's erection was already poking through the front of his briefs. His shirt vanished like a magic trick, and Jim was bowled over in a whirlwind of willing flesh. Harvey kissed him, surprisingly sweetly, as he dry-humped away. Jim could not get rid of his pants fast enough.

The sex was sloppy, fast, and oddly tender. Jim could never get it together enough to try one thing or the other; he would hold Harvey for a couple of strokes only to grab the older man's waist to re-direct him with a hand on the buttocks. Harvey showed no sign of stopping his ministrations, either. With their overeager friction, the two slid all over the bed until finally, head falling off the corner, Jim came. Harvey did not seem to notice, humping away with boundless enthusiasm. Jim embraced him, restricting his movements and nuzzling his neck just below the ear. Harvey whimpered and came, elbows and knees sliding so that he crashed on top of Jim. Neither said anything. They panted.

“I hope this doesn't mean you think I'm buying lunch from now on,” Bullock said.

Jim ruffled his hair. “You kidding? You're buying the condoms.”

 

Sionis scented, took the air like a lion.

“You've got a warrior spirit,” he told Jim, “I knew that when I first saw you.”

Both men were naked, save for the face and body paint. Richard's impressive build flexed before Gordon, who tried to look arrogant.

“But the warrior spirit does not automatically win out,” Sionis said.

Jim replied, “well, of course it doesn't. Where's the fun in that?”

Sionis smiled tightly. It was the only warning Jim got. Suddenly the two men were locked in struggle. Sionis's muscles like iron bands. Jim reversed his grip and threw Sionis to the floor, on a waiting mat. (They didn't want to get too hurt, now did they?)

Jim had been ready to hate the businessman. Hate what Sionis brought out in him. But after a cordial visit and a rather enlightening talk, Jim realized how invigorating being able to act out raw animalism was. Better yet, with a willing and knowledgeable partner.

Sionis and Gordon circled each other. Both lean and tensed, both hard as rock. Dark amusement flickered in the businessman's eyes. Jim had known going in that he was going to lose today. Counted on it, in fact.

Sionis came at him again. Jim dipped low, slow, too slow to really be effective, and Sionis floored him. Jim lay, shoulders pinned to the mat. Sionis bore down the full weight of his body, straddling Gordon's hips on his knees.

“And so we see who has the greater will,” he growled. Jim struggled... but not too hard.

Sionis leaned forward and bit Jim's ear, his neck, his jaw. He licked the sweat from Jim's throat and then kissed him, forcing his tongue past Jim's lips. Jim tried not to seem too into it, but the illusion was lost when Sionis dug his fingertips into Jim's scalp and he arched up involuntarily.

Sionis teethed Jim's earlobe and worked his erection, savoring his submission.

“Up,” he ordered Jim. The officer obediently got to his knees and opened his mouth for the cock. Sionis face-fucked him, directing Gordon's head with one hand while he fumbled for the massage oil he kept on-hand for post-workout sessions. With a smooth gesture he pulled Jim off of him, drizzling a generous amount on his fingers and cock.

“Assume the position,” he growled.

Jim got on all fours, cock throbbing with need, trembling for the first touch of fingers.

Sionis opened him brutally, sheathed his cock in one swift motion, and fucked at a gallop. It was as much a workout as their wrestling, as their lap-running and swimming and everything else. Just two men having a contest of wills.

Jim's cock went unattended, but he didn't call attention to it. Instead he focused on rocking back, bracing with his palms on the floor and tightening a much as he could. When Sionis came first, he derived not a little satisfaction from it. As the other man panted, draped on his back, Jim worked himself furiously, using the sensation of Richard's taut, perfect body to help drive him over the edge.

They did not kiss after but dressed swiftly, tightening ties and smiling benignly. It was their own personal salute. They were, after all, professionals.

 


End file.
